


i saw you (in a corridor)

by murderousnerves



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Band Fic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Indie Music
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 08:16:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14016075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderousnerves/pseuds/murderousnerves
Summary: All Anna Amoretti wants to do is become the next Patti Smith and change the world of music with her songs. However, there’s a certain chart-topping boybander who is kind of ruining her rep.A song set to the rhythm of the suburbs of London, with the voice of a Brooklyn-born girl carefully stringing together the lyrics as she goes along.





	1. no witches' pill, no lover's kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s fucking 2017,” she tells him, before pushing past him. “Women can carry their own damn guitars.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't like solely posting fic on Tumblr, so I decided to move it somewhere else. Hope you enjoy!

 

There’s a soft strum of a guitar, maybe a little cello or violin, a quiet drumbeat that grows louder as the music swells. She’s close to the lyrics, she can feel it - she can even hear the mumbling of a voice, but no words. But it’s there and it’s beautiful, making her heart pitter-patter faster and faster with each long resounding note, and the lyrics begin forming themselves in her head– **  
**

“Are you even listening?”

And just like that, the lyrics float away before she can catch them.

Trix snaps her fingers in front of Anna’s face, frowning. “I’ve been talking for the last five minutes and you’re super spaced out.” Honestly, Trix should be used to this by now. Anna zones out even more than she tunes in. “What is it now?”

“A ballad,” Anna decides, carelessly smacking her chin into the palm of her hand, propped up by her elbow. “Or at least I think it was - maybe it was just slow. Really, really beautiful. Not as loud as everything else I’ve written.” She lifts her eyes up just in time to see Trix roll hers.

Trix wrinkles her nose. “How could I forget,” she begins, “that one song that practically burst my eardrums. What was it called again? Something about germs?”

Anna nods, slightly perturbed that Trix is being disparaging about her music. “You’re A Germ,” she corrects. Although she shouldn’t be surprised. Trix has never really been the most supportive sister; when Anna played her first show in a grimy bar in Brixton, she’d turned her nose up at the graffitied walls and green room that smelled of piss and left halfway through the show. However, Anna knows that there’s a lot of different ways to say ‘I love you’.

“I want to hear the new one, then. Play it for me when we get home,” Trix says softly.

(That’s one example.)

Anna smiles, but guilt pulls at her heart when she says, “I don’t know if I’m gonna come home tonight. Depends on if everyone is going to go out after the gig.”

Trix looks hurt (she’s never been very good at hiding her feelings) but doesn’t say anything; just sips at her gin and tonic. Anna stares at her own beer, wondering if it was the wrong choice for the occasion–she doesn’t see her parents much anymore, not since they split, but every time she does they find something to grill her about. She knows what she has to do now. Sit, smile, wear plain clothes her parents won’t ask her about, don’t mention music unless asked, and change the subject as quickly as possible when they begin talking about her love life. Or, the lack of it. Anna’s never been a romantic type, never even had a real relationship; just a few flings that fizzled out after a few months. Sam, who’s the bassist in her band, has been in love with her for years. She knows, but they just don’t talk about it. Anna has never liked love songs.

“Is Andy coming?” Anna changes the subject, turning her attention to her sister. “Everyone is late.”

“He’s coming, but he’s got a meeting. He’ll be here soon,” Trix rolls her eyes, “but Mum and Dad have absolutely no excuse for being late.”

Anna says, “They probably didn’t want to come.” Trix glares at her but she’s just being honest. Their parents have no desire to be in the same room as each other, and their father hates Trix’s boyfriend Andy, so they’re both probably putting it off as much as they can. They divorced when Anna was eleven and Trix was fifteen, and Trix had cried so much that she couldn’t go into school for a week. Anna, on the other hand, was sad for about an hour and then got over it. She figured that it was necessary for them, since they were unhappy together, and every musician needed their inspiration, anyway.

“There she is.” Trix says this weirdly, a big fake smile plastered on her face but with dread in her voice. “And Dad’s by the bar.”

Anna sits up straighter, prepping herself for an hour of complete emotional turmoil. Her mother works in fashion, a character straight out of The Devil Wears Prada, and her father is an achingly boring businessman. Or something. He’s never actually told her, and she’s never bothered to ask. Their relationship is… strained, to say the least.

“My girls,” their mother says as she approaches the table, and the words would perhaps be more sincere if she wasn’t staring at her phone as she said them.

“Hi, mum,” Trix says meekly. “How are you?”

“Exhausted, darling. Could you go and fetch me a drink? A martini would be excellent.” Trix scurries off to the bar, and Anna watches her order frantically, before saying hello to their father. Her eyes are still drawn to Trix when her mother says, “Jesus Christ, Annabelle, what on earth are you wearing?”

Anna looks down at her dress - it’s bright orange and torn at the bottom. “I got it from a charity shop. It was a fiver.”

“And Doctor Martens. Oh, God, darling, I thought those died out in the nineties.” Thus, the emotional turmoil begins.

Trix returns from the bar with their father, looking red-faced already, and he and their mother haven’t even spoken a word to each other. Usually it takes at least a sentence before he explodes. Anna’s father has never been particularly loving anyway, but his whole heart seemed to vanish without a trace when he and her mother divorced. Not that Anna misses it, either - dealing with one parent was so much easier than dealing with two, and her mother may have disdained Anna’s lifestyle, but she never actively tried to stop it. Her father, however, would never have allowed her to run around making music. He’s old-fashioned that way. When he found out that Trix was moving in with her boyfriend, he just about went into cardiac arrest.

“Anna,” her father says, hugging her lightly. “Your dress is short. And Doc Martens–Christ almighty.”

Her mother raises her eyebrows. “That’s what I said.”

He finally turns his attention to her. “Emily.”

“Stephen.”

There’s a frosty silence as Anna’s mother takes a sip of her martini, while Trix and Anna exchange an awkward look. It’s not that Anna cares about whether her parents argue or not–she stopped caring when she was nine–but she would just rather not deal with it right now. It’s boring and time-consuming, and they have to be at Ted’s in an hour and a half. She’d really rather her parents weren’t viciously sniping at each other while they watched her perform for the first time. They’ve never actually showed any real interest in her band, and finally they want to see her in action. It’s a monumental occasion.

“How’s work, Dad?” Trix asks. “I heard you had some good… business.” That’s a lie. Neither Trix or Anna have any idea what their father does for a career, but usually talking in general business terms is enough to satisfy their conversation quota.

He sighs. “We did initially, but our client pulled out at the last minute…” he pauses, frowning at something across the room. “Is that your boyfriend?”

Anna and Trix both look over. Andy is traipsing across the room, wearing a nervous smile on his face. He’s obviously come straight from work, since his tie’s a little askew and his hair is mussed up from the commute here. Anna likes Andy. He’s sweet and treats Trix well, and is surprisingly funny and grounded for a hotshot lawyer. Trix is lucky to have found him, both in an emotional and a financial way; she has both forms of stability.

Trix frowns, turning back to their father. “I told you he was coming.”

“I must’ve forgotten.”

Andy smiles as he approaches, first kissing Trix on the top of her head before shaking their father’s hand and politely kissing their mother’s cheek. For Anna, it’s a big hug. He’s a nice boy, Anna thinks, and for a moment she finds herself wishing she could find herself a nice boy. Not even someone she has to be in love with, but someone who appreciates her company in a way that the boys she already knew didn’t. Sure, Sam might have been in love with her and it was nice that there was somebody out there who did feel that way, but she couldn’t get past the idea that he wanted to be around her because he loved her, and not necessarily because he was interested in her. Maybe it sounded stupid, but that was how she felt.

“I’m excited about seeing your band tonight,” Andy says in a low voice as he hugs her. “I mean, if your dad doesn’t kick me out first.”

Anna stifles a laugh and lets him go. For the first time in her life, she feels jealous of her sister.

“Would you like a drink, Andrew?” Anna’s mother asks. “You look exhausted. Those bags under your eyes are simply enormous.”

Come to think of it, Andy did look tired - he even had frown lines on his forehead, like he’d been mulling something over for days. He still looked happy, though, and nervous at the same time. Like Trix, Andy didn’t hide his emotions very well. A blessing and a curse.

“I suppose I’m a little tired,” he considers, “it’s been busy at work recently. I’m on a massive murder case right now, so it’s been a lot of sleepless nights.”

“Also,” Trix cuts in. “We’re engaged. So that, you know, factored in a bit.”

Their parents nearly choke. Anna claps her hands together in glee, whooping a bit too loudly and causing people around them to stare. Andy looks… nauseous.

“Well,” their mother says. “Very good. Would you be a sweetheart and get me another martini, Beatrix?”

And that was that. Their father just glares, stormy-faced, at Andy until their mother snaps at him, and they begin a full-on argument in the middle of the bar. It definitely wasn’t the big reveal Trix wanted, Anna could tell by her face - the extravagance had been lost, as most things were with Emily and Stephen Amoretti. Nothing could be extravagant unless it was on their terms, and a marriage to Andy wasn’t on their agenda for Trix. They had given up on Anna a long time ago, ever since she taught herself to play guitar and started to lie about where she was and how often she went to school.

(One term, her attendance had been 48%. She’s not proud of it, but she’s glad to be out of that hellhole now.)

Anna felt for her sister, she really did. Trix’s eyes are welling up with tears, looking down at her lap so that nobody could see her cry. Anna notices, of course, she always notices - and so she takes Trix’s hand and says, “Trixie, come to the toilet with me?” Trix nods and they leave Andy alone with their parents. She feels slightly bad about that.

Once they’d shut the wooden toilet door behind them, Anna takes Trix into her arms and hugs her tightly. Even though they hated each other sometimes, nobody could really break the sister bond. It’s steel, fierce and sturdy, bending but never cracking. Trix lets go and goes to the sink, washing her face with soap and water to try and stop the redness that was creeping into her cheeks.

Suddenly, the lyrics fall into place. I wash my face with soapy water…

Anna whips out her phone to write down the fragments in her head, trying to connect them all together. She arranges a few sentences while Trix pats down her face with the loo roll, nothing coming together yet, but it has potential, which is all she needs right now. The words all feel close to her heart, how it usually feels when she starts to write a good song, like she’s plucked the lyrics straight out from her chest and onto paper. That familiar tingling feeling is in her lower stomach - all she wants to do right now is go home and write. But there’s a family to attend to and a show to perform, so she just hugs Trix again, then heads back out for the rest of this nightmare.

+++

“It’s like, a ballad. I guess it’s sad. I wrote the first verse in the Uber over here,” Anna explains, “so it’s like: _I wash my face with soapy water / Wipe away the tears ‘cos you’re somebody’s daughter / And they don’t ever wanna see you cry / Anxiety’s grip is always waiting to take me / It’s in my stomach, I fear it’s starting to shape me_ …” she trails off when she sees the frown on Sam’s face.

He’s always the first one she comes to when she’s started a new song, and also the most critical. Anna always thinks that she’s lucky that Sam isn’t biased when it comes to her, because he easily could’ve been–but he tears apart her lyrics sometimes, tells her when something works and when it doesn’t. Now is one of those times. “Some of it’s a bit clunky,” he says, “like that second line. What was it?”

“ _Wipe away the tears ‘cos you’re somebody’s daughter_?”

“Yeah, that one. It doesn’t sound quite right to me. We’ll work on that.”

Anna smiles, playfully slapping him on the shoulder before walking to the dressing room to get her guitar. “Cool.”

She had managed to shake off her family when she had to go backstage; they probably would’ve stayed with her the whole night if she hadn’t told them to fuck off. Her parents argued in the Uber over to Ted’s, and Anna wished she was the kind of person to do drugs regularly so she could get away from their incessant noise. Harvey, their drummer, would probably have something on him, and Anna genuinely considered getting high for the whole of the twenty minutes in the car.

When she grabs her guitar and comes back out into the hall, she can’t see anybody she knows in sight. Sam’s fucked off somewhere, probably to mull over her lyrics somewhere quiet, and she knows Minnie was in the green room painting her eyelids an insane colour. There are still people around - including her parents. They’re waiting at the end of the corridor, her mother still looking at her phone, and her father looking bored as anything.

“Can you go and find some seats, please,” she hisses when she nears them. “I’m trying to relax.”

“Annabelle, it’s far too loud in there and it’s dirty,” her mother sneers. “If you think I’m sitting there while sweaty men wipe their disgusting armpits on me, you’re very much mistaken.”

“Mum, get out. If you really wanna see me perform, you’ll sit out there and watch. If you can’t deal with the crowd, then leave. I’m not keeping you here if you don’t wanna be,” Anna snaps. She realises her tone might be a little too confrontational, so she turns to pleading. “Just–please. I want you to be here, so can you please brave the sweaty men for just less than an hour?”

Her parents sigh and leave. She hasn’t even performed yet and Anna’s just about had enough. Her parents are driving her insane and she’s feeling a little anxious, so she heads back into the green room, pushing past what feels like a million people. Then suddenly, everything feels like slow motion - she drops her guitar because of her sweaty hands, kneels down to get it, and when she stands up, there’s a familiar face in front of her. She nearly jumps about six feet in the air. It’s Harry fucking Styles.

She’s flustered, to say the least. Firstly, there’s a possibility that Harry fucking Styles will be watching her perform, and even though that shouldn’t be grounds to make her nervous, it does anyway. Why on earth would an international pop sensation want to see an alternative rock band at a miniscule pub? It just doesn’t make sense. Looking at him, he seems so out of place. He’s wearing a necktie, for God’s sake.

Secondly, he’s much more attractive than he looks on a magazine, which is strange. You’d think that he’d have touch-ups on those photoshoots, but somehow he looks better. Anna always goes for guys who are a bit more scruffy-looking (and generally aren’t in pop bands) but she has to say that Harry fucking Styles is doing it for her. If he wasn’t who he is, she might just go home with him tonight. But obviously that’s not an option; she can’t be seen to be fraternising with the enemy. And in Ted’s pub, Harry Styles, member of One Direction, is definitely the enemy.

She can’t even begin to think what everyone would say.

“You all right, there?” he asks, and it takes a moment for Anna to realise that he’s talking to her.

Anna half-smiles. “I’m- my hands are sweaty.” And she’s immediately mortified. But Harry fucking Styles takes no notice, even laughs, before taking her guitar from her.

“I can carry this, if you want.”

She opens her mouth to accept, but then stops herself. Reconsiders. Anna Amoretti cannot be friends with Harry fucking Styles. That is not what’s going to happen. “No,” she says, rather bluntly, grabbing it back. “I can do that.”

He frowns. “Oh. Okay.”

“It’s fucking 2017,” she tells him, before pushing past him. “Women can carry their own damn guitars.” It’s a bit of a reach, but she’s relatively pleased with herself after she looks back and sees him looking lost and confused. She bets he’s never had that before.

“I’m, uh — sorry,” he says from behind her after a few beats of silence.

She turns fully, and Anna hates the way she feels the tiniest strain on her heart the second his face falls; he’s realised his mistake and how he must’ve offended her. “It’s…whatever,” she says, brushing it off and walking away. She does feel a little bad, but she can’t dwell on it now. They’re on in five minutes.

If Anna hadn’t been about to perform, she might’ve ordered an alcoholic drink to try and relax herself, but having learnt the hard way once before, she knows to steer clear from the substance when she’s got a gig. Instead, she rounds a corner and takes a minute to breathe. If having her parents in the audience — together, as well — isn’t enough to send bubbles of anxiety through her body already, having a famous popstar amongst the mix ought to do it. She’s leaning up against the wall, her chest rising and falling slowly as she takes deep breaths, when her moment of solitude is ruined by one of her bandmates rounding the corner.

“There you are!” Sam says, a small smile falling on his lips as he spots her. Anna almost wants to vomit — and it’s not because of the nerves continuously building up inside her. “What are you doing? We’re going on soon.”

“I was just—” she sticks her thumb in the direction of the corridor, realising what she’s about to say is going to sound like she’s gone a bit mad. “I was talking to Harry Styles.”

Sam waits a second before answering. “What the fuck?”

“I was surprised too,” Anna concurs. “Are Harvey and Minnie anywhere?”

“Last I saw Harvey he was doing a line in the bathroom. We’re gonna be late going on, again. One day Ted is gonna stop asking us to perform, and I swear to God, I’m kicking Harvey out when he does.”

“Eh, it’s okay. Gonna be touring with Libertines or fucking opening for Oasis for their reunion tour by then, aren’t we?” Anna jokes, and Sam grins at her. She can see sparkles in his eyes, which physically pains and sickens her.

Sam’s the kind of guy everyone wants. He’s attractive, funny, and really cool—Anna really wishes that she just liked him a little bit more. Sometimes she thinks that she’s toeing the line, but for now she’s firmly in the friendship side of things. And that’s good, really. She can’t imagine what her songwriting skills would be like if she was in love with someone; the thought alone makes her want to give up music. She’s never written anything that even slightly resembles a traditional love song, and in a way she’s proud of that. Soppy romance gives her the shivers.

Anna only realises she’s staring at him when she’s startled by Harvey shouting, “Let’s fucking do this!” behind her. When she turns, she sees his blown pupils and chattering jaw and laughs. Claps her hands together. Besides the music, this is why she started doing this: to be with her best friends.

“Moaning Lisa Smile to start, yeah?” Minnie comes out of the green room with electric green glitter on her eyelids and an emerald velvet bodysuit hugging her tiny little body. Anna is delighted to think about what her mother will think about her bandmates. She takes a little bit of pleasure in pissing her off.

“No, Fluffy. You do this every time, Min, can you just fucking listen for once—”

“Shut up,” Anna admonishes, silencing them while she picks up her guitar. A hush falls over the backstage area. Anna loves this part; those two moments before a show where everything feels like it’s in slow motion, listening to the muffled voices of the pub shout and fight and laugh, yelling their name and cheering. Just before Ted announces them, her whole body tenses, and she squeezes her eyes shut. She can feel the dirty, stuffy air on her skin, in her lungs, and when she hears their name called, a yell rips out of her throat.

This is it. This is all that matters.

+++

The set’s not the greatest, but it still feels good. She catches a glimpse of her family’s horrified looks while they play She, and she’s pretty sure her parents realise that the line “she’s got a boyfriend in a band / and they’ve done more than just hold hands” was written when she was sixteen and dating a guy who she last heard is a heroin addict now.

Harvey screams in glee when they all storm off the stage, revelling in the cheers and shouts behind them. Minnie hugs Anna, kissing her cheek. “Smashed it,” she says. “Fucking smashed it. Libertines are gonna be opening for us.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t be surprised,” the voice behind her is gravelly, the scratch in a throat that’s just about to fade. Anna turns around. Harry fucking Styles, again. “You were great.”

There’s silence for a moment while everyone registers who’s speaking. Minnie just about looks ready to faint, and she knocks her elbow against Anna like a warning. Anna scowls at him, not wanting to look like she’s encouraging any of this. Harvey breaks the silence by reaching his arm out and pointing at Harry, his finger barely an inch from his face.

“Fuckin’ hell, man,” Harvey’s jaw locks as he stares at Harry, wide eyed. “You’re the dude from McFly.”

Harry barks out a laugh. “Not quite, but close.”

“Sorry,” Minnie apologises, “he’s pinging, Sam’s jealous and well, Anna’s just a bitch.”

Anna would be hurt, but in some respect, it’s true.

Harry holds his hands up. “Hey, no problem. I just wanted to check you guys out. A friend of mine recommended you to me and I thought that I’d come by to tell you I really like your stuff.”

“Really?” Minnie says.  “Thanks, man. That means a lot.”

Harry nods, and Anna realises how much she doesn’t want this. She doesn’t want a superstar pulling them along while they ride off the inertia of someone else’s fame. She wants to do this the old-fashioned way: playing sleazy bars, popularising themselves through a small group of fans that just want to see their music do well. It’s not the fame that she wants, it’s the music, man–it always has been for her. Anna’s always resented those boyband types who think they can sing a bit and get famous through a TV show. Maybe she’s pretentious, but she doesn’t give a shit. She puts blood, sweat, and tears into her songs and shows. If Harry fucking Styles thinks he’s helping, he’s not. Women have been fighting for themselves for decades now, and she’s not letting someone who took the easy route pave the way for her. No fucking way.

“Are we done here?” she interrupts suddenly. “I need a fuckin’ smoke.”

Everyone had been talking all at once until she’d cut through, and they all stare when she does. It’s not like Anna to be so standoffish, but she just can’t help it: Harry fucking Styles is annoying the hell out of her, and she just needs a cigarette and a drink before she goes and talks to her parents again.

“Dude,” Minnie frowns. “It’s Harry Styles.”

Anna shrugs. “Whatever. I’m going outside, if anyone wants to come.”

Nobody follows her at first, and that hurts a little. After a second she can hear some footsteps following her up the hall and out into the smoking area, and she grins before turning to see that it’s just Harry fucking Styles again.

“Hey, did I say anything to offend you?” he asks, concerned. “Was it the whole guitar thing? Because, I swear to God, I’m not some kind of male supremacist who thinks he should have power over women, I just wanted to help–”

“Jesus, you like to talk,” Anna says. “No, Harry Styles, you didn’t offend me. I’m treating you like I’d treat anyone else. That alright with you, or do you want me to bow down at your feet or something?”

He shakes his head, looking almost horrified. “No, God. No. I just came to check your band out, honest - I’m not the kind of guy to expect people to treat me differently just because of who I am. That’s not me.”

Anna lights her cigarette and stares at him, cocking her head to the side. “I reckon you secretly think a lot of yourself,” she says, and when Harry opens his mouth to protest, she continues. “Hey, don’t be offended - most men do. I know about two men who don’t think they’re better and smarter and more talented than me. And you know what? Most of them aren’t. How many fucking times have men tried to ‘improve’ my lyrics or teach me how to play the guitar and have just made everything worse…” Anna blows out smoke. “Maybe you don’t think you’re better than me because you’re a celebrity. That’s cool. But here’s the thing: you’re a man, so you’re plagued with thinking you’re better than me because I’m a woman. It’s just a fact. I don’t need you to check out my band, or get us to the top of the charts, thank you very much. I can do that on my own.”

Harry stays silent for a few moments, and then says dejectedly, “Okay.”

That surprises her. “What?”

“I agree with you. Most men don’t think that women can be just as good or in most cases, better. If you feel that I’m like that as well, then that’s your truth. Who am I to tell you that you’re wrong?”

Her feminist rants have never taken off like this. Nobody ever agrees with her apart from Minnie, and she doesn’t even count because she has the same experiences as Anna. Sam always sighs and says something along the lines of “Men aren’t all like that…” and Harvey never usually understands what she’s trying to say. Harry fucking Styles is the last person she would ever have thought would agree with her.

“Well, uh. Thanks.” She takes another drag of her cigarette, not quite sure what to do. It’s times like these that she’s glad she smokes - she always used to not know what to do with her hands when she was with someone, and having a cigarette always makes it easier.

They stand in silence for a few moments. Harry shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet, while Anna thinks about what to say next. She’s coming up blank. It isn’t often that she doesn’t know what to say, but standing in front of a world famous superstar has reasonable grounds for being tongue-tied. She does feel weirdly relaxed, though, which is especially strange because she knows that her parents are waiting for her, probably with backhanded compliments or even straight-up insults about the set. Harry fucking Styles is a comfortable person to stand in silence with, she has to admit.

He finally asks, “Do you write your own stuff?”

Anna is almost offended, but he looks so earnest that she forgives him. “Yeah. Sam fine-tunes some of it, and Minnie wrote most of Nosedive, but I do pretty much all of it. I mean, Sam helps a lot. Like tonight, I was telling him about this song I just started writing, and the start is like, ‘wipe away the tears because you’re somebody’s daughter’ and Sam thought it felt clunky, so he’s probably going to play around with it.” she tells him, absent-mindedly flicking ash onto her shoes.

“I can tell.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ve got a pretty specific voice, I reckon. You can just tell the lyrics are your own. They kind of give me this… I don’t know, this is weird. Your lyrics give me this warm feeling, but like, nostalgic and sad at the same time. They’re really fucking good.”

For some reason (and she really does not have an explanation for this), Anna’s heart skips a beat when he says it. Maybe because nobody’s ever complimented her lyrics in this way before, like it’s personal. Not even her bandmates ever tell her about the feeling they get from her songs.

“Oh,” she says, not really knowing how to respond. “Um. Thank you.”

“It’s all right.”

There’s not much else she can say, Anna supposes, and she’s already finished her cigarette. She gestures towards the door when she stamps the cigarette out, and they travel back inside. Sam is glaring at the both of them when they return, and Anna feels bad despite knowing she’s done nothing wrong. That’s what most of their relationship is, really; Sam passively aggressively acting like Anna owes him something, and her always feeling guilty. It’s been like this for so long that she more or less accepts it now, since Sam is her best writing partner and probably one of her best friends, but he’s never known how to treat her. The way he’s looking at Harry and her right now just solidifies that - he looks at her like she’s his, and she’s not. She’s not anyone’s. She promised herself a long time ago that being someone’s just ends in hurt and Anna Amoretti has had enough hurt for a lifetime, thank you very much, and there’s something so pathetically weak about it being caused by a man.

For some reason, she wonders what Harry has to say about that. At first she makes a mental note to ask him later, but then she remembers that she should have no desire to contact him ever again after tonight. What would the fans say?

Their underground following are alternative indie rock purists, she’s come to realise. One time, Minnie posted an Instagram video of her listening to a Taylor Swift song and she lost a large chunk of her followers. Anna hates to imagine what everyone would say if suddenly she started hanging out with a bloody popstar. It would ruin everything she’s worked for.

Anna’s so wrapped up in her own thoughts she hasn’t noticed that her bandmates are actually engaging in conversation with Harry fucking Styles, and her family have joined them backstage. She’s not sure which one she hates more.

“You were so good!” Andy grins, wrapping her in a big hug. Anna loves his hugs - every space between them is closed, and it always feels like he actually wants to be where he is. You feel truly loved with Andy. “You’re a songwriting genius, Anna Amoretti, a true genius.” Minnie pokes her in the back, and Anna shoves her middle finger up secretly. “God, that one–what was it called?–the one where you scream. I love that one.” Her dad is frowning off from the side, probably wondering how Andy could’ve enjoyed any of the set at all.

“Fluffy,” Anna tells him. “Thanks, Andy.” It isn’t often that Anna is shy and bashful, but Andy always means everything he says, so his compliments mean a lot.

“It certainly was a spectacle,” her mother comments, “and the crowd seemed to be having a wonderful time.” Anna didn’t see her parents when she was performing (she’d been attempting to block them out of her mind), but she’s now picturing them standing completely still and watching with disgust while sweaty, young people started a mosh pit. She barely has any time to revel in the image before her father cuts in.

“Well, I suppose I should be going,” he says gruffly, leaning in to kiss Anna on the head. “Congratulations, Annabelle.”

Harvey, probably still out of his mind, whispers, Annabelle?

She thanks her father and watches her family peel off one by one, until it’s just her and her bandmates and Harry fucking Styles, and she can breathe again. Sure, maybe she loves them in a way that’s not just out of obligation, but Jesus Christ, they can be real hard work sometimes - the air in her lungs seems to have been absent for the past couple of hours, only remedied by the disappearance of the people who are meant to make her feel safest and happiest. Her band is her real family, really, and what she loves most in the world, so Anna reckons she can deal with the emotional turmoil a few times a month in return for an outlet that make her feel on top of the fucking world.

“We all need a drink,” Minne decides. “Pint here, then back to mine?” Minnie lives in a tiny disgusting flat in Hackney that smells like feet and is often collateral damage during drug raids, but it’s the only one of theirs that has an open plan kitchen and living room so they could all fit, and she doesn’t share her flat with a roommate like Sam and Harvey do. Anna lives with her Aunt Jo in Clapham, and as cool as Jo is, she could never have everyone over until four in the morning (the time they usually left). So, Minnie’s was the only place they could go.

Anna can feel Harry fucking Styles shrink behind her, and she gets a small thrill from him knowing that he’s not welcome. She doesn’t know why she feels the need to prove that Harry isn’t shit, but she does, and every single time he falters or fumbles, the glee she feels is incomparable. That is, until Minnie says, “You coming, Harry?” He straightens again, and Anna’s stomach grows tight. No, no, no…

“I can’t, sorry,” Harry says. “Got an early flight tomorrow morning.”

Minnie looks upset, almost. “Oh, right. Okay. Next time, then?”

“Sure. Hang on, I’ll give you my number.” He holds out his hand and Minnie gives him her phone, watching as he taps his number into it. “Oh, I’ll write it down too, just in case.” Harry then fishes out a pen and a scrap of paper from his pocket and writes it down, handing it to Anna. She barely looks it at first, and then when she finally does, she notices a little message next to the phone number.

Try ‘disguise the tears ‘cause you’re somebody’s daughter’. Your lyrics were beautiful, but maybe others might think this is less “clunky”.

Anna opens her mouth to say something when she looks up, but Harry is already walking down the corridor. When he looks back, he smiles at her kindly, and Anna hates that she kind of wants to smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> personal: http://thunderbug.tumblr.com/  
> writing: http://serotoninfics.tumblr.com/


	2. as deep and as dark as the dirty british sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A boy? Jesus Christ, who the hell are you?” Jo says. “You haven’t been interested in boys since… well, ever.”

_is it okay if i use those lyrics you gave me? i’ll credit you, obviously_

_this is anna from the gig the other night, by the way_

**Of course you can! You don’t have to credit me, either. And I have every bit of confidence that you guys will make an album someday. You’re so talented, it’s insane.**

_thanks man, that means a whole lot_

_where was your flight to?_

**LA. I’m recording some stuff over here and then I’m flying over to New York to see some friends before coming back to London.**

**I’d rather be in London now though.**

_seriously? i’d fully murder someone to have your life_

_maybe a little less pop culture phenomenon-y though_

_what part of nyc are you gonna be in?_

**Haha I know, I hate sounding ungrateful because I love what I do and I love going to the places that I go to. But sometimes I just wanna chill out at home and not do popstar stuff. It gets kind of boring.**

**Manhattan… Possibly explore a bit further out though. I’ve never seen the Bronx or Queens or Brooklyn, even though I’ve been to New York loads of times.**

_sounds mad_

_you know i was actually born in brooklyn_

**You’re an American?**

_nah, i’m a londoner through and through, but my dad grew up in connecticut and moved to nyc when he was like 20 or something and met my mum when she was there for fashion week_

_so they fell in love or whatever and did the long-distance thing for a bit, my mum got pregnant with my sister and she moved to nyc to be there with him, got  
pregnant with me, and we lived in an apartment there until i was like 4_

_but my mum wanted her job back and he moved out here to be with her because his company had offices in london but my mum had no work in new york_

_so here i am_

**That’s crazy.**

**Have you gone back to New York?**

_yeah but not properly_

_we mostly go and see my grandparents in connecticut_

**When you’re touring the world you can see it as much as you want.**

_i guess lmao_

_i dunno if we’ll ever get that big_

**I reckon you will. T** **here are so many bands out there that are nowhere near as talented as you and are huge.**

_like one direction???_

**Ouch. That stings.**

**True, though.**

_haha i was kidding_

_kind of_

**You’re not a Directioner? Disappointed.**

_i mean, there’s one dude in 1D that i like_

_brown hair, insanely pretty_

**I’m flattered.**

_i think his name is zane?_

**How fucking rude. I’m in genuine tears now, Anna Amoretti.**

**Anyway, he’s not in 1D anymore. And it’s  
spelled Zayn.**

_hahahaha_

**You’re mean.  
**

**You know what, you CAN’T use my lyrics anymore. Get your own.**

_that’s rude hahahaha_

_yo it’s actually been super nice talking to you, but_  
i think you’re 6 hours behind and it’s 3am here, so i  
should probably get some sleep

**Goodnight, Anna.**

**I’ll think of you when I’m in Brooklyn.**

+++

She texted him.

She doesn’t know why, or what came over her. Ever since that night in the corridor of Ted’s pub, he’s all Anna could think about. Why on  _earth_  would Harry Styles feel the need to come to a tiny indie gig? The territory was so foreign to her - the only famous person she’d ever met at one of their gigs was somebody from a reality TV show that she couldn’t remember the name of, and that was only because he’d stumbled into the wrong place by accident. Nobody ever came except for alt rock fans.

Everyone else in the whole entire world is charmed by Harry, and Anna doesn’t want to be. She doesn’t want to drop down on her knees and kiss the ground he walks on, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be friends, right? There’s no obsession there, barely even a feeling of fondness, but Anna doesn’t take someone helping her with lyrics lightly. Her songs are long lines of rope, tying her to whoever’s affected by them - it just so happens that this time, she’s tying herself to a world-famous popstar. Casual.

As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, he’s a nice guy. She sort of expected him to be a dickhead, but he’s just… not. And she almost wishes he was, because then it’d be easier to distance herself from him. She could go on hating him and all pop music and everything would be right in the world again.

Instead, she texts him. Jesus Christ.

“What are you doing?” her Aunt Jo asks a few days after the first interaction, pottering around the kitchen while Anna stretches over the couch with her phone glued to her hand. Anna is too embarrassed to admit it, so she just shakes her head and feigns interest in one of the many plants that grace Jo’s flat.

To Anna, Aunt Jo is possibly the coolest woman in the world. When she was twenty-four, she made a blog that was mainly about interior design, which hit the big-time and allowed her to found an online lifestyle magazine. She’s now thirty-two and living in a flat in Notting Hill with her two cats, Amadeus and Godiva. And Anna, of course, but that wasn’t part of Jo’s initial plan. Anna’s residency is temporary, of course - when she decided she wanted to pursue being a rockstar, it was agreed between her and her parents that she would have two years living in London trying to make it. Everywhere was far too expensive, so Jo offered up her guest bedroom as an act of kindness. Jo’s flat is clean white with a lot of plants and too many throw pillows, not Anna’s taste at all, but it’s home now.

“Don’t pretend to be interested,” Jo admonishes, “you never remember to water the plants in your room. Tell me what you’re doing.”

Anna gives up. “I’m texting a boy.”

Of course, Jo’s frown turns into a look of shock. Anna does not talk about boys - she never has. A large portion of her friends were male, due to the overwhelming amount of men in the underground music scene, but her prospective boyfriends had always been subpar, at best. Her last boyfriend had been coked out of his mind every moment they spent together and most of her romantic attachments broke up with her because they ‘couldn’t deal’ with her. That means, they couldn’t deal with women and their complex human emotions.

“A  _boy_? Jesus Christ, who the hell are you?” Jo says. “You haven’t been interested in boys since… well, ever.” Anna knows that’s not true, but she doesn’t argue. It’s too dangerous to tell any members of her family about her crushes, especially now.

“I’m not even interested in this one,” Anna protests. “More intrigued. He has, like, no reason to be talking to me whatsoever. I’m so far below him it’s ridiculous.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. Anyway, when has Anna Amoretti ever thought she was below a boy?”

“Never, and that’s the point.” Anna grins. “I don’t mean I’m below him, really, we’re just… different. Two different worlds, that kind of thing.”

“I don’t get it,” Jo says decisively.

“Me neither,” Anna sighs. “I barely know him and I don’t even want to know him. I kind of just want to know why he keeps talking to me.”

For most of her life, Anna has found it hard to say exactly what she wants to say. The only time the thoughts ever come clearly is when she’s writing music - words fit together more easily that way. She can’t really explain the impulse she has to keep on speaking to Harry Styles, let alone to Aunt Jo. He’s a popstar, a  _poser_ , emblematic of everything she hates about the music industry: a pretty boy who has a slice of talent that’s used to exploit teenage girls. As much as she refuses to fall prey to that, she can’t help but like him a little bit. He’s charming, maybe more than just a little talented. Above all, he’s kind, and Anna can’t remember the last truly kind man she met besides Andy.

Part of her wants to cut him off completely. Change her number, play a different venue, get as far away from Harry Styles as she possibly can. Another part of her wants to see whatever this is through, even if she’s just treading lightly. And there’s another part, growing like vines all throughout her body, which is just plain embarrassed. He might be Harry _fucking_  Styles, but she’s Anna  _fucking_ Amoretti, a star in the making, destined for greatness even if it’s just whispers in the underground scene. There’s no goddamn way she’s riding his coattails to success, and there’s even less of a chance that he’s using her good name to get indie cred for whatever bullshit he’s doing next.

She’s Anna  _fucking_  Amoretti. She doesn’t need him.

+++

**I’m in this coffee shop in Brooklyn, and it’s so sick. I wanna live here.**

_you and me both, buddy_

_how’s your trip going?_

**It’s good. I did some writing and recording sessions. Hey, is it cool if I run some lyrics by you?**

_i guess so_

**‘We’re just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me, swimming in a glass half empty, trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat’**

**Does that sound weird?**

_i mean obviously i don’t know what the sound is like but that looks like it’s meant to be a slow song_

_idk man it seems kind of rushed? i do like the lyrics but i think you need to split them up and change them around a little_

_like maybe if you use the ‘standing in the place of you and me/swimming in a glass half empty’ in two different verses or choruses that might flow better_

**Genius. Thanks.**

_you’re welcome lmao_

+++

“You fucking suck, you know that?”

Andy splutters on his coffee. “What have I done?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you and Trix were engaged. You fucking suck!” Anna plops into the seat across from him, leaning her guitar case against the back of the chair. Sometimes, Andy and Anna meet for lunch when he’s not too busy with work or not meeting Trix - The Vagrants rehearse right around the corner from his office block in Shoreditch, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to who isn’t too preoccupied with band stuff. Music might be Anna’s entire life, but she gets sick of it when she spends three hours arguing with Sam about the perfect chord or a better lyric.

Andy holds his hands up in defeat. “Sorry, sorry. Trix didn’t want me to tell anyone until she told your parents. At first I thought she’d let me tell you, but she made it very clear that I shouldn’t.” He shifts uncomfortably. “I’ll try to suck less in the future.”

His wording almost makes Anna blush, for whatever reason. “I’m gonna hold you to that. How’s work?”

Once upon a time, Anna swore blind that lawyers were fascists, politics was corrupt, and the Tories were evil. She still believes the latter two, but Andy made her change her mind about the former: he made it sound so interesting. If it wasn’t too secretive, he’d share details with her about murder cases, because he knew she loved hearing about true crime and theorising about what actually happened. But it’s possible that she just finds everything Andy says interesting. Anna knows he’s the whole package, and she’s happy he’s in her life, even if it’s as her future brother-in-law.

“Boring. Big murder case, but it’s clear-cut so you won’t enjoy it.” Anna sighs, slumping back in mock-disappointment. Andy continues, “Hey, did you know that the lad from One Direction was at your last gig?”

She groans. “God, don’t remind me. How humiliating.”

“Don’t be narrow-minded. Everyone says he’s a great guy. And he seemed to be having a good time, from what I saw.”

Anna leans forward suspiciously. “How do you know that? Did you see him there?”

He shakes his head. “No, I didn’t personally see him. There were pictures in the paper - it said the band’s name in the article and everything.” Andy cowers, looking shy. There’s a reason for this. Anna knows that he secretly loves reading the celebrity gossip columns in the Daily Mail, even just to complain about the sexist treatment of female celebrities. She’s mocked him enough for it in the past, so she decides to breeze past it now.

“Wow. I had no idea.”

“That’s because you don’t know anything about popular culture. If you look up his name on Google and then go past the articles about him in New York, you’ll find it easily.” She had almost forgotten that Harry had gone to New York. His message ‘ _I’ll think of you when I’m in Brooklyn_ ’ runs through her head, and she does her best to swat it away before she starts to dwell on it.

Why did Harry Styles seem so obsessed with her? He didn’t know her at all, but he seemed intent on infiltrating her life. Coming to her gig, texting her, thinking of her when he’s in Brooklyn. Anna doesn’t think anybody has ever tried this hard with her. Even Sam, who’s been in love with her for years, has never actually  _tried_  anything. The one person she’d ever wanted to try hard never did. But Harry _fucking_  Styles, who should’ve been the enemy, is actually attempting to get to know her.

It’s disgusting.

For years, Anna would change the station if One Direction came on, roll her eyes if she caught a glimpse of one of them on a magazine cover, rejoiced when they finally ‘broke up’. It’s never occurred to her that there were actually people behind those popstars. But even if Harry is a great guy, she’s too far deep to start giving him a chance. Let her walls down for one popstar, and suddenly she’ll lose her credibility as an artist. There’s no way that can happen.

“Whatever,” Anna says, snapping out of her thoughts. “I just popped in to say hi. I told the others I was going to pick up some coffee, so…” she trails off, her lie failing to pick up steam despite it being a reasonable one. In truth, she just doesn’t really feel like talking about this anymore, and she’s actually dying to read that article. Just to see her band’s name in print, obviously.

“All right,” Andy says brightly. “Hey, just so you can’t accuse me of sucking again, I should tell you that the engagement party is in two and a half weeks. You can bring the whole band, if you’d like.”

Anna musters a smile. “Cool, thanks. And don’t worry, you don’t actually fucking suck.”

She hugs him goodbye, picks up her guitar case, and begins to walk to rehearsal. The others aren’t actually expecting her for another twenty minutes, at least - she had planned to sit with Andy for his entire lunch break - so she goes to a nearby Starbucks and sits on her phone for a while.

Her curiosity gets the best of her, and she searches Harry Styles.

The first couple of headlines are pictures of him in New York, so she scrolls further until she sees a familiar picture of him outside Ted’s pub. The headline is something stupid about the Hawaiian shirt he was wearing, and Anna lazily looks past all of the crap about how he looked and the speculation of what he’s doing now. She catches sight of her band name and stops.

_Harry Styles, pictured with Vagrants’ frontwoman Anna Amoretti._

It’s her, looking all sweaty and dishevelled, lifting a cigarette to her lips and smiling. She can’t remember looking that happy around Harry, but it must’ve happened at some point, since the picture is right in front of her. Her heart drops, and she quickly opens up her rarely-used Twitter app to see if anyone has seen.

_wtf is anna doing with harry styles lmao_

_How am I meant to respect Vagrants when I know that Harry Styles likes them too?_

_Embarrassing that I have the same music taste as Harry Styles._

Every Tweet is the same; everyone harassing her for being associated with a popstar, each one a punch in the gut. For a moment, something inside of her heats up - did it really matter that much? But then it subsides, replaced with anger and hatred. Of Harry, obviously, but mainly of herself. She’d known that she couldn’t let herself get mixed up in this. That night, she had repeatedly made it clear that she didn’t want him around. But here she is anyway, associated with some shitty singer that didn’t even make good music. She feels like screaming at the world, telling them there’s no fucking way she would ever hang out with Harry Styles in a million years.

They say all publicity is good publicity. In this case, it wasn’t true. Alternative fans are ruthless: they eat you raw, spit you out like chewing gum. Anna has no room to fuck up. One false move and she’d be outcast forever. Harry Styles will just have to deal with it.

+++

**I just had the best burger of my life. Thank you for the recommendation.**

**…**

**When I come back I need to pick your brain about songwriting. I’m getting some serious writer’s block.**

**…**

**Are you okay?**

**…**

**Anna?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> personal: http://thunderbug.tumblr.com/  
> writing: http://serotoninfics.tumblr.com/


	3. the light won't flicker and the light won't fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I like it,” Harry says, playing with her hair. “It’s sentimental, sweet. Is it about me?”

“You’ve been avoiding me, Anna.” **  
**

Anna jumps and nearly brains herself on the outside wall of Ted’s. She briefly imagines her blood splattered on the red brick—that image might make a nice lyric someday. But she calms quickly and turns to face Harry, who’s smirking mischievously and crossing his arms. “Jesus Christ, you just about gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry about that. I just thought that sneaking up on you outside of your local might be the only way I’d ever see you again,” Harry jokes. “Seriously, though. Where’ve you been?”

“Busy,” Anna says vaguely.

It’s only half a lie. Sure, the past two weeks have been stressful due to rehearsals and phone calls and everything else, but she has been avoiding him lately. There’s been an influx of attention to the band, and she knows that it’s all to do with her being linked to Harry Styles, which she swore would never happen upon their first meeting. It’s a little hurtful that she didn’t do it all on her own, but she guesses she can’t complain. What kind of musician would she be if she wasn’t grateful?

“Well, are you gonna be busy after your gig tonight?” Harry asks.

That catches her off guard, and she stares at Harry with eyes the size of saucers. “What?”

“I would like to buy you a drink, if that’s all right.”

“I—no. No.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t—Harry, I’m not—listen, it’s hard to explain. But it’s just not a good idea for us to like, date, or whatever. I can’t.”

“Okay.” She expects him to walk away angrily, or look confused, but he gives nothing away. In the short time she’s known him, she’s expected him to wear his heart on his sleeve, but he doesn’t—he’s incredibly hard to read. “Do you mind if I ask why?”

Anna blinks, and looks down at the cigarette in between her fingers. She can’t bear to look him in the eye when she’s very clearly lying. “I don’t like you,” she says, her voice sounding strange and insincere. Not even the biggest idiot on earth would believe her, and Harry’s not stupid; he smiles at her and moves a little closer.

“You don’t have to be who they want you to be, you know,” he tells her softly. “Caring what other people think will kill you.”

She thinks about all the times where she’s ignored what she wanted, ripped out parts of herself in order to be accepted. There are little sacrifices she doesn’t mind making—she doesn’t care about not wearing stereotypically feminine outfits, or not wearing a ton of makeup, or pretending not to like some of the music that’s on the radio. But things have piled up now. At what point does it stop, gets to be all too much? She thinks about her family, how she’d be chewed up and left for dead if she ever became like them. She thinks about Andy, and how she could never be with someone who works a nine to five and only worries about providing for a family. Anna realises she’s forgotten what it’s like not to care about what other people think. She’s always prided herself on how against the curve she is, how she’ll never be like her family or other boring people who can’t live on the edge like she does, but is that really how she’s living?

Anna, however, is nothing if not proud. “I don’t care what other people think,” she says, defiant. “Harry, I don’t like you. You’re the poster boy for everything I hate about music. I can’t go out with someone like that.” She gets some delight out of how Harry seems irritated by her now.

“Jesus Christ, Anna,” he huffs. “I’ve literally never met anybody who talks as much shit as you do.”

Once again, he surprises her.

“What the fuck?”

“You keep trying to be someone you’re not. I don’t know you very well, sure—but I can read you so easily. Stop me if I’m wrong: you’re a rock’n’roll purist who doesn’t let herself like anything that won’t be considered cool, even things that’ll make her happy.” She doesn’t stop him, even though he pauses. “It’s like you hear yourself, but you don’t listen. Or maybe you know exactly how you feel, you just refuse to say it. And that’s why it’s even more annoying that I really fucking like you, because I know you’ll always like me less in return.”

He begins to walk away, and Anna considers letting him. Considers watching him walk out of her life forever, letting her insecurities get the better of her, and somehow she just can’t do it. “Harry, wait,” she straightens up off the wall, stubbing her cigarette out as Harry turns back. “You can buy me one drink.” Harry grins so wide it looks as if his face will split in two.

Six drinks later, Anna begins to forget why she was trying not to like Harry Styles. He’s genuinely funny—it’s quite hard to make her laugh, but he’s pulled it off several times now. And he’s quite sweet, too. She talked about her parents and her sister and Andy and how she’s never had any proper friends until the whole band thing, and he listened to every single word she said. She realises that Harry was right earlier, that she hears people but she never really listens. She wonders how she got this far with no real interest in other people’s lives.

“No, I don’t think you’re selfish,” Harry slurs after his seventh beer. “I think that maybe you’ve just never had other people to care for. Now you have too many people and you don’t know what to do for them.”

“When I said yes to one drink I didn’t think I’d be getting a therapy session along with it,” Anna jokes.

“Okay, then you can psychoanalyse me. Psycho-Anna-lyse,” Harry stares expectantly at her after his pun, satisfied when she giggles. “Go on. Ask me anything.”

“Do you think fame at such a young age has fucked you up?”

Harry splutters. “Jesus fucking Christ, Anna.”

“Sorry. It’s just always been kind of cool to me, that child-star-gone-crazy kind of thing. Not that I think you’re crazy, but you know, everyone who got famous early on becomes a drug addict or whatever.”

Harry stares at her for a moment. “Yeah, I was a drug addict.”

It’s Anna’s turn to splutter. “What? No way. You’re too… clean.”

“That’s because I’m sober. Ten months.”

“Fuck,” Anna states. “What—if you don’t mind me asking, what was it?”

“Coke, mostly. Not heroin or anything, thank God. But I did morphine and coke and everything like that. It was…” he takes a deep breath, half-smiling awkwardly. “I mean, it was terrible.”

Anna understands. Although she might dabble in drugs sometimes, she knows how awful drug addiction can be first-hand. When she first met her, Minnie was dealing with her drug-addicted boyfriend. It was a tough time and Anna wanted nothing more than to absorb all of the pain and sadness Minnie had inside her, and she kind of wanted to do that now. Harry had so much sad energy coming off of him in that moment, and Anna wanted to take it all away, even just a little bit.

“Well,” she says, finally mustering up the courage to reply. “To new starts.” She raises her glass, and Harry clinks his own against it. After they both down the rest of their drinks, Anna gets up. “I need a smoke. D’you wanna come?”

They venture outside, to the almost-empty smoking courtyard outside of Ted’s. The only other person out there is drunk out of his mind, his head lolling forwards. After a moment, his friend comes and guides him inside, leaving just Anna and Harry alone. This is what she wanted. It’s quiet outside, only the sound of cars coming down the road on the other side of the brick wall. It’s nice, being with Harry on her own. She can block out the sound of the critics yelling at her inside her head, because nobody’s watching now. No cameras. No Twitter followers. Nobody.

Maybe if the drunk man had still been out there, Anna may have been too embarrassed to kiss Harry. But she’s glad she did.

+++

_Don’t you wanna take time to get to know me?_

_We could build a perfect world_

_I got tricks I really want to show you_

_I could be your perfect girl…_

It was a love song.

Anna Amoretti has never written a love song in her life. She’s written anti-love songs, hate songs, songs about sex—but never a love song. It’s unprecedented, and frankly scary. Even when she’s wanted to write them, she could never play them aloud. It’s a pride thing. She’s always fancied herself a tin man, a chest with no heart inside, nothing there for anyone to break. Obviously, she’s always known that it wasn’t true, but nobody else had to know that. A love song lays your heart out on the table for everyone to feast on. Anna Amoretti’s heart would never be a goddamn snack.

“I like it,” Harry says, playing with her hair. “It’s sentimental, sweet. Is it about me?”

She hides her face in his chest and defiantly says, “No.” But that’s not true. At least, it’s half not true.

Harry’s grin radiates through his chest so fiercely that Anna can feel it without even looking at him. They’ve been lying on the big velvet couch in Aunt Jo’s living room for three hours now, kissing intermittently, but mostly Harry had been helping Anna with lyrics to a love song she’d been working on ever since they first kissed a week ago in the smoking courtyard.

_And when we grow older_

_We’ll still be friends_

_We’ll still be lovers_

_And won’t fear the end…_

Harry kisses the top of her head softly, an action that warms Anna’s cold blood all the way through, and soon Anna is fumbling her way up to his lips. The past week reminds her of being a schoolgirl, stealing kisses with different boys and hoping her parents don’t find out. She’s been enjoying their little bubble of not-dating, just seeing each other every so often, and making out when they do. Nobody knows that she is seeing Harry fucking Styles, and she likes it that way.

“This all right?” Anna asks as she reaches down to unbuckle his belt. Harry nods so hard he looks like a cartoon character.

She hardly even gets the zipper down the whole way before she hears the front door slam shut, and suddenly Aunt Jo is standing above them, shocked.

“Oh!” Jo exclaims. “I—I was just—I’ll go.” She immediately whips around and leaves the room.

“Fuck,” Anna says under her breath, clambering off of Harry to run after her. “Jo, one second.”

Aunt Jo’s cheeks are burning red, as if she just ran a marathon. “I’m sorry, Anna, I didn’t know you had someone over. I didn’t know you had a boy over.”

“That’s…” Anna slouches, almost in shame. “Harry. Harry Styles?” In this moment, she wishes that Aunt Jo wasn’t a cool thirty-something whose entire career relied on the internet. If she wasn’t, then maybe she wouldn’t know who Harry Styles is and it wouldn’t be a big deal. Alas, it is.

“Fucking hell, Anna,” Jo whispers. “Can I see?” Before Anna can even reply, Jo pushes past her back into the living room, where Harry is standing awkwardly with his now completely-zipped jeans.

It’s probably only a couple of seconds when Jo and Harry look at each other, but to Anna it feels like an entire lifetime. She’s been caught with a boy before, sure—but never with a boy she’s had any kind of romantic feeling towards. The rest have all been throwaways, pawns used for shock tactics in her game against her parents. Harry is… different, as much as she hates to admit it. Anna can’t seem to stop herself from liking him. He’s so charming, it actually hurts her. If Anna from a month ago was told that she actually had feelings for Harry fucking Styles, she would’ve laughed—and probably would’ve been hugely offended. But she genuinely cannot help herself.

“Hi,” Aunt Jo says after what feels like forever. “I’m Josephine. Jo.”

“Harry,” he does his politest, most charming grin. Anna almost giggles at how hard he’s trying. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you. You too.” Jo’s face falls after she realises what she said, and Anna lets out such a loud snort all three of them start laughing.

It feels natural, which is nice. Anna’s never had to do this before—introduce a boy to her family—so it’s a relief that she doesn’t actually have to do much. Harry is able to carry the whole room with just a smile, anyway, so maybe that’s why they match. Anna, the grumpy girl who’d rather not, and Harry, the sweetheart who actually wants to.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jo swears, practically weeping at the absurdity of the situation. “That was painful. Anybody want a cup of tea?”

Anna half-shrugs. Harry nods, and Jo walks over to the kitchen. Part of Anna feels embarrassment, like she’s been caught smoking by her parents and is waiting to be reprimanded, but mostly because she’s been caught with somebody she shouldn’t be with. She tries to shove it down, crumple it up into a little ball, but it keeps rearing its ugly head.

It’s too late for that now, though. She likes Harry, despite their first meeting, and they’re good together, she thinks. He’s kind and sweet and good, and Anna’s never been with someone who’s good before. Her last fling had ended because the guy got in a bar fight and ended up going to prison. She hasn’t had the best luck. There’s this nagging feeling at the back of her head, however, that this isn’t going to end well. Not just because of who Harry is, but because of herself—she likes Harry enough to continue doing what they’re doing, but she doesn’t know if she feels just as strongly for him as she knows he does for her. Besides, there’s always been something, or someone, who holds her back from giving her whole heart away, and she’s not ready to admit any of that yet.

“Anna’s never told me about you,” Jo says, snapping Anna out of her reverie. “She mentioned a boy, but I didn’t think it would be anyone so…”

“Lame?” Anna interjects, jokingly.

“I was going to say world-famous,” Jo frowns. “If you know Anna, you know that she’s always had a problem with the mainstream. Not to say, you know, that you’re mainstream, or anything.”

Harry laughs, leaning against the counter. Anna can’t help but think he looks like he belongs here, a fixture in hers and Jo’s lives. “No, I understand. She was very reluctant to get to know me at first, but somehow I convinced her I’m not as lame as I seem.”

“Wow. Can I have some tips on how to get to this stubborn one?” Jo pushes Anna’s shoulder playfully, but for some reason it annoys her. She’s not that bad.

Either way, it’s kind of nice to see Harry and her aunt getting along like this. It makes her a little less nervous about other people knowing about them, less scared of their reactions. But the fear of being outcast is eating her from the inside, and she hates feeling like this—like she relies on the approval of others. She always thought that she didn’t, but being with Harry has made her realise that she does, constantly, mould herself around the expectations of others.

Being in a rock band means you have to be less feminine, more outspoken, more selective. It means you have to push away what you want in favour of what you need to be. What’s worse is that Anna craves the validation of being a Real Musician, being special in an industry that churns out stars every few weeks. Is it really that bad to restrict yourself from things you love so you can achieve your end goal?

Anna zones back into the conversation, which has switched over to Harry and Anna’s plans for the weekend. “We’re going to a gig on Saturday night, but we haven’t got any other plans, I don’t think.”

“Well, are you busy tonight, Harry? You could stay for dinner. Wednesday is Anna and I’s takeaway night, so you don’t have to suffer my awful cooking.” Jo asks, and Harry looks at Anna like he’s asking for approval. It annoys her, but it’s also appreciated, so she just shrugs and smiles in response.

This is where Harry and Anna differ. If somebody had shrugged as a reply to her, she would’ve taken it to mean no, or at least ‘I’d rather not’. But Harry, always believing the best, took it to mean yes. “I’d love to, thanks,” he grins.

And that does kind of make her heart swell, but it also establishes that this is more than just a quick fuck. Only one guy Anna’s liked has met her family, and she pretty much broke up with him straight after. See, she’s not a commitment-phobe as such, but she has a fear of someone being liked by her family. If her parents like a guy, it means he can’t be the right guy for her. Anna has always known what she’s wanted: to be a musician, and to piss off her family. Those are pretty much her only two goals in life. Harry will not piss off her family. He’ll charm them, and suddenly she’ll be a housewife with three kids waiting for him to come back from tour, putting her own dreams on the backburner.

She knows it’s a little extreme, but her brain often malfunctions when faced with situations like this. Watching Harry bond with Aunt Jo seems concerning. Anna’s not even sure if she wants to properly be with Harry yet, all she knows is she does like spending time with him, but not in public. Not for everyone to see.

So, her survival mechanism kicks in: sabotage everything.

+++

Anna does two lines of diz and lights a cigarette while Harvey cleans up the rest. She doesn’t often do anything crazier than smoke a little weed, but part of her wants to cut loose a bit. She can’t stop thinking about her evening with Harry and Aunt Jo—it feels too much like things are working out exactly right for her, and she doesn’t want that. She never has.

Underground indie music fans are very particular about who they support. Bands have to struggle for what they achieve, otherwise they’re not worthy of anyone’s time. Anna’s already had a pretty privileged upbringing. Granted, she did cut off ties with her parents just before their success really started, but that doesn’t change the fact that if they really wanted to help her out, they could. Her full name is Annabelle Helena Amoretti, for God’s sake, she sounds more like a privileged white girl than anyone she’s ever met, and the people who listen to her music don’t have respect for those who don’t struggle. With Harry backing her, she truly doesn’t stand a chance.

“Got a call from someone at NME,” Sam says, “they’re going to include us in a list of upcoming bands to watch.”

“Holy shit,” Minnie’s eyes widen. “It’s really fucking happening.”

Anna doesn’t say anything, but she’s been getting calls like that all week. She doesn’t even want to think about why.

She changes the subject quickly. “I’ve been working on a couple new songs,” she starts, “I’ve got the lyrics for one of them and just the melody for the other. They’re both kind of slow, but I reckon it could balance out our set list a bit.”

“Slow songs?” Minnie raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Ballads, almost. Love songs.”

Sam’s face is stormy, and Minnie just looks smug. Anna chooses to ignore them both, half because she doesn’t want to talk about it at all, and half because the ecstasy is starting to kick in.

“Anyway, just thought I’d tell you,” she trails off, starting to feel embarrassed.

“You have the lyrics on you?” Sam asks, his voice completely flat.

Anna nods and fishes her notebook out of her bag. She takes it everywhere and it’s in complete tatters now, but she’s so proud of it. It’s something people in teen romance movies do.

“These are…” Sam struggles to find the words. “I don’t know, Anna. They’re not very you.”

She feels as though she’s been slapped. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe it’s just because you’ve never really written love songs before, I don’t know. But they don’t read right to me, at all. These lyrics feel like they’re coming from some other person,” Sam says.

Anna has written one other song in her whole entire life that’s been a love song, and she’s never told anybody about it—not even Sam or Minnie. Definitely not her sister. Because she knows that her love comes from a different side of her, the side that she refuses to show, because she’s always fancied herself as a stone cold fox. Heartless. She’s never believed that you need to be in pain to be an artist, no way; you can shut your emotions out and write songs about creepy guys who prey on younger girls or snorting lines in petrol station bathrooms.

“Fine,” Anna says, taking back her notebook. “I’ll work on it.”

She doesn’t care if she’s being blunt; Sam deserves it. He can’t ever just be happy for her. If she’s happy, he feels like he has to knock her down a peg, and she’s done with it. How can you call yourself a friend if all you want to do is make them feel bad about themselves?

Harvey offers her another line, so she takes it. Harry’s meant to be arriving soon and she needs to calm her nerves, and drugs are the closest thing to her right now. It’s either that or sex, and there’s nobody here that she really wants to have sex with.

The gig they’re attending is Sam’s mate’s band, who just scored a record deal with Alcopop!, and Anna is much more nervous than she ever has been. It didn’t help that she met with Andy earlier in the day, and he’d told her that him and Trix had been arguing a lot lately—she knows it’s not, but part of her feels like it’s her fault. There’s always that nagging feeling in the back of her head when she’s with them, that somehow they know, somehow they’ll find out. It’s complete paranoia, but it feels very real.

She vaguely hears a knock on the door, someone opening it. “Hey,” Harry comes up behind her and kisses her on the cheek, which sends electric shocks through her entire body. Then again, that might be the drugs.

“Hi,” she says bluntly, voice devoid of any emotion.

Maybe he notices, because his grip on her waist loosens, but his voice remains bright and cheery. “Are you ready to go?”

Anna nods. Harry pays for a cab to take all five of them to Heaven, even though it’d probably be quicker and cheaper to take the tube, but obviously Harry can’t do that. The whole way there she avoids conversation, lets Minnie chat to Harry while she stares out the window, even though the ecstasy is making her feel a bit ill. People stare when they arrive, because nobody ever gets a taxi and nobody would ever come with Harry Styles, so Anna has to hide her embarrassment by walking a few steps ahead, linking arms with Minnie and pulling her along.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Minnie hisses to her just as they reach the back door. Anna’s pretty thankful that the band are letting them stay backstage if they want—if she had to stay in the crowd with Harry, she might just spontaneously combust with humiliation.

“I don’t know! I don’t know. I just… this is so hard. I feel like people are gonna hate me,” she says before she can stop herself. “I’m embarrassed.”

“Grow up, Anna,” Minnie says softly. “Acting like you don’t have a heart isn’t cute anymore. It’s just kind of sad.”

Minnie removes her arm and walks back towards Harry, leaving Anna outside the stage door. She lights a cigarette and waits until the area is clear of people before she puts her head in her hands.

Love stopped being real for her the day her father gathered her and Trix in the living room and announced he was leaving. Her mother had lit a cigarette, something she never did, and told them that all men do is take until there’s nothing left. There’s some truth to that, Anna thinks. Harry is taking from her, it’s true. He’s taking all of the bad, heartless things out of her and restoring all of the good parts she lost years ago.

That’s what Andy did for Trix, and they’re perfect, as much as she resents her sister’s life choices. But she’s starting to see that there’s no shame in how she lives. Anna’s always had this idea that how Trix lives isn’t true, it’s all fake, and Anna’s life was free and wonderful and flawed in such a beautiful, artistic way. But that’s all bullshit, really; there’s no one way to live.

She takes out her phone and texts the one person she trusts, the one person who can talk her out of (or into) anything.

_hey_

_i just wanna let you know that i think i’m gonna start seeing harry now_

_hope you and trixie are okay xx_

He replies after a minute.

**Proud of you!**

Anna smiles and shoves her phone into her pocket just as Harry opens the large stage door.

“Hey,” he says softly, “there you are. It’s about to start.”

“I’m sorry,” Anna replies. “I just needed to breathe for a second.”

“Okay.” Harry chews on his lip nervously. “Are you angry at me?”

She blows out smoke and smiles half-heartedly, shame gripping at her insides. “No, no, I swear. I’m just—I’m kind of messed up right now. I keep telling myself that I know who I am but the truth is, I have no fucking clue.”

He nods like he understands, but she doesn’t think he does.

“I like you,” she finally admits. “I like you a lot. More than a friend, more than whatever it is we’ve been doing for the last two weeks. You’ve got me, Harry fucking Styles. For some reason, you’ve got me all in. I like you.”

Harry chuckles. “Yeah, Anna, I knew all of that. You think you’ve been good at hiding it? You pull me in and push me away and yet you’re still easy to read.”

“A simple ‘I like you too’ would have sufficed.”

“That wouldn’t have been as much fun, though, would it?”

“I guess not,” Anna sighs. “Now get over here and kiss me.”

Thankfully, he obliges, taking Anna’s cheek in the palm of his hand and pressing his soft lips to her cracked, dry ones, and it doesn’t feel like any of the other kisses she’s had. He’s taking his time, and that’s what’s different—every other kiss Anna has had led to sex, or fumbling in the dark at least, but Harry kisses like he means it, like he has all the time in the world. Maybe he does. And for the first time in a while, Anna feels like she does, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> personal: http://thunderbug.tumblr.com/  
> writing: http://serotoninfics.tumblr.com/


End file.
